Free Wartime Brides by Lizzie Lane Page A

there wasn’t someone while he was away?’
    Aaron shrugged.
    ‘I know her kind,’ Polly went on. ‘All strawberries and cream but deep down she’s boiling like a kettle.’
    ‘You’re cynical,’ said Aaron squeezing her arm.
    She returned the squeeze. ‘And you’re gorgeous!’
    He went on to tell her he was going to play music on Broadway one day.
    ‘I’ve heard of that,’ she said. ‘I saw it at the pictures. Is that really what you’re going to do?’
    God, he thought, but these English dames were easy to impress. He never referred to them as Limeys.
    The clippie on the bus they were travelling on chose that minute to clip their tickets. ‘Next stop Old Market,’ she said curtly, her eyes glancing at Polly before giving Aaron her own superior look as though she were looking over a prize stallion and finding it not quite what she was looking for. She sniffed and reached for the next seat.
    ‘Fares please,’ she said, moving down between the two rows of seats.
    ‘My stop,’ said Polly getting up.
    ‘I’ll walk you home,’ said Aaron and as he got up and his full height towered over her, she felt too overwhelmed to refuse his offer.
    As they turned into York Street she became aware of net curtains twitching as the sound of their footsteps reverberated between the Victorian terraced houses that squatted meanly on either side of the road.
    Polly bristled. How dare they? At least she was single. There were married women in her street who had not always sat home alone while their husbands were away fighting.
    She glanced up at the bedroom windows of Aunty Meg’s house. No lights were on and there was no sound of crying. Carol was sleeping. Hopefully she’d stay that way. She didn’t want to tell Aaron about Carol – not yet anyway.
    ‘Can I see you again?’ he asked. ‘Tomorrow?’
    ‘Why not? I’ll meet you outside the Llandoger where we were tonight,’ she said quickly. She didn’t want him to pick her up from the house. Mentally she weighed up the cost of the bus fare against the opportunity to be the wife of a GI. ‘I’ve had a lovely time,’ she said in her most sultry voice, her blue eyes wide and purposely appealing.
    He smiled. His lips came down to meet hers.
    Some girls she’d known had said that the black blokes were over-sexed, more so even than their white counterparts and, on the whole, better lovers. In a way she had expected him to reflect that, hard kisses, feverish fumbling around her breasts and even up her skirt. But he did none of those things. His kiss was warm; the hands on her shoulders were gentle. A thrill ran through her. She really wanted him and pressed her body against him in an effort to let him know.
    To her surprise he stepped back. ‘Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
    His footsteps echoed between the twin rows of brick houses. She didn’t put her key in the door until the sound had melted away. Once inside she slumped so heavily against the wall that a lump of damp plaster slid out from behind the wallpaper and cascaded to the floor. ‘Be still,’ she said to her heart. It totally ignored her and continued to beat wildly.
    She reached out and ran her hand down over the front door and imagined in the darkness that he was still there, big and broad above her. Perhaps this was the one who would fulfil all her dreams. He was the last of a great army and would soon be gone. In order to go with him she would do anything, anything at all, and woe betide anyone who upset her plans.

Chapter Six
    MEG SIGHED IN defeat when Polly explained to her why she wanted her to look after Carol.
    ‘It’s free. Can’t refuse if it’s free, can I!’ Her blue eyes flashed and she tossed her head so that her hair slapped around her cheeks.
    Meg had no argument to offer. If all it took was the price of a bus fare, she had to let it be. She pursed her lips to prevent herself calling Polly a selfish little cow. Her patience was wearing thin. Nowadays when the neighbours